


we were just 2 kids

by metronomin



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coming of Age, Growing Up, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:35:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metronomin/pseuds/metronomin
Summary: Everyone knows ChenJi -- the iconic NCT maknae duo who grew up before the eyes of millions worldwide. This is the story of Park Jisung and Zhong Chenle; who grew up behind the cameras, too.
Relationships: Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le
Comments: 58
Kudos: 228
Collections: Challenge #5 — I heard a secret..





	we were just 2 kids

**Author's Note:**

> recommended fic playlist:  
> \- innocent // taylor swift  
> \- the fault in our stars // troye sivan  
> \- dorothea // taylor swift
> 
> title taken from 2 kids by taemin.

Sometimes, Chenle can’t help but feel bad for Jisung. This is definitely one of those times.

“ _Hing_!” The nursery-rhyme-like backing track ends with a flourish, and Jisung strikes a cutesy ending pose -- cheeks puffed, finger hearts out. From where he’s seated next to Chenle, Jaemin shrieks in delight, and Donghyuck buries his face into Chenle’s shoulder. Of course, Chenle plays his part, booing loudly in disapproval. Making money is hard, he thinks, secretly; and every aegyo performance on Weekly Idol makes it harder.

Personally, he doesn’t see much appeal in Jisung’s aegyo. Maybe it comes hand in hand with the “Forever Maknae'' label that has been thrust onto Jisung’s shoulder since debut, with lingual braces and blond curls.

Sometimes, Chenle thinks it would’ve been nice to be the maknae, to gain more popularity just because of his age. However, watching Jisung mask his grimace with a sheepish smile, he silently thanks God he was born three months earlier.

Later, in the car, Jisung groans, facepalming in mortification.“That was so _embarrassing_. I’m literally an adult. Would be nice if everyone stopped treating me like a kid.”

“You’ll always be our baby, Jisungie,” Jaemin coos, reaching over to pinch Jisung’s cheek. Jisung screams, and Chenle laughs. “Even when you’re forty.”

“I had to do it too,” Mark sighs placatingly, “and I’m three years older than you. The fans don’t care how old you are, you’ll be doing it until you’re balding.”

“I’m _already_ balding!” It’s true. Jisung’s hair has been bleached multiple times over the past few months, given their recent comebacks.

“Not more than me,” Chenle retorts, and Jisung sticks his tongue at him. “Until you’re dead, I guess.”

Jisung groans again, and the entire car bursts into laughter. Chenle’s eyes meet Jisung’s in the bubble of amusement, charged with familiarity and sunshine. Jisung stops short, raucous laughter quieting into a caramel grin.

Sometimes, Chenle hates his job. It’s natural, although no idol would admit it publicly -- everyone, no matter what they do for a living, hates it at some point; just some at more points than others. Being an idol is walking the teetering, precarious balance between overexposure and strict boundaries. So yeah, sometimes Chenle hates his job. But it’s moments like these that Chenle thanks God he accepted that offer all those years ago.

Chenle smiles back. The air bleeds starlight.

* * *

They meet, officially, in a practice room, Chenle half-hidden behind their manager.

“This is Chenle,” Their manager announces to the room full of boys. “He’ll be training with you from now on for debut.” Graciously, the manager steps out of the way, and the group of boys stare at him curiously.

“Hello! My name is Zhong Chenle!” Chenle hears himself say, syllables rolling off his tongue with practiced concentration. His accent still peeks through, no matter how much he’d tried to get rid of it in his month’s worth of intensive Korean tuition back in Shanghai. “Let’s be friends! Fighting!” All his words feel so forced. Chenle tries not to cringe. Was it too late to go back? He misses his mom.

There’s a slight pause, in which Chenle contemplates every single life decision leading up to this moment, before one of the boys responds, cautious. “Are you from China?”

It takes a moment before Chenle realises he’s speaking in perfect Mandarin, and his knees nearly buckle in relief.

“Yes!” He nods vigorously, switching to Chinese. “I’m from Shanghai.”

“Nice. Big city,” The boy smiles, snaggletoothed and kind. “I’m Renjun. I’m from Dongbei.”

 _Amen_ , Chenle thinks. _AMEN!!!!_

As the atmosphere lightens, the manager leaves the room, closing the door behind him. When he’s out of the room, the boys launch into animated, welcoming conversation, sweeping Chenle into their small circle. Names are exchanged, along with joking barbs and laughter. Chenle sits next to Renjun, jittery with nerves and excitement.

Across from him, a small boy squints at him, and Chenle stares back. He looks so familiar. Where has Chenle seen him before?

Oh. It hits him. That event _ages_ ago. _Him again._

“I know you,” They both say at the same time. The circle falls silent.

“What?” Another boy, Donghyuck, questions. “You know each other? How?”

“He--'' The boy starts speaking in rapid-fire Korean, and the words drift in a fog of confusion over Chenle’s head. Sensing his distress, Renjun leans into him, which Chenle takes as a sign to start talking.

“It was some cultural thing a couple years ago. We were both there, and we became friends. Ish. We were super young. Like, nine? I’m pretty sure my mom still has pictures.” Beat. “I can ask her to send them to me?”

Patiently, Renjun listens, then translates for the rest of the circle. They _ooh_ and _ah_ in understanding.

“That’s so cool!” Jaemin pipes up. “You and Jisungie are, like, fated. The universe wanted you two to meet again.”

Chenle eyes the boy -- Jisung -- warily. Fate? Universe? Jisung peers back, hesitant.

Well, Chenle decides, being unaccepting has never helped anyone. Might as well make a friend. After all, they were going to be stuck with each other for a long time.

“Sure,” He tests the syllables in his mind before speaking them aloud, still insecure about his pronunciation. “Fa-ted.”

Jisung’s cheeks erupt into a blush, and for the first time that day, Chenle feels as if he’s done something right.

* * *

Debut comes and goes in a flash. With a perpetual smile, Chenle dances (which he’d never done before) and sings his heart out. He loves singing, has never once felt daunted by performance; had performed overseas before any of the older hyungs had. And yet, in front of this crowd of screaming fans, he feels the heat mount like a pressure cooker -- staining his starched shirt and his expression.

It turns out, though, that his worries are unfounded: he doesn’t mess up as much as he expects to, and Chewing Gum is a hit. NCT Dream trends worldwide, and his mom sends him grainy pictures from where she’d taken them in the crowd. Zhong Chenle, just shy of fifteen, is on top of the world.

But the world is still cruel.

After the first week of promotions, all seven of them sift through comments under their music video, performance videos, and social media. Most of them are good -- few people are mean enough to hate on mere teenagers, and they’re showered with effusive praise and impressed statements. Chenle translates the Chinese comments, struggling to understand the nuances behind the Korean ones, but is assured that they’re positive.

It’s the few stray hate comments that stick out like needles, sharp to the touch, drawing blood. The ones they see but don’t acknowledge, secrets they don’t speak aloud because if they do, it’s real.

Even after the success of the other units, people are still skeptical of the concept, taking this out on members. They criticise everything -- _Chenle is stiff, Chenle’s visuals are lacking, why would they ship Chenle from China?_

It stings like barbed wire. Chenle goes to bed in the dorm with his head swimming in doubt. Just when he’s asleep, he feels another dip in his mattress.

“Huh--”

“Hyung.” It’s Jisung.

Korean hierarchy is so pervasive, and Chenle kind of hates it. He _tsk_ s. “How many times have I told you not to call me that,” He chides, no real bite behind it. “We’re friends.”

“Chenle,” Jisung tries again, voice wobbly. “Do you think I should’ve debuted?”

He knows where this is coming from -- that one Twitter comment that had said, “ _why did they debut Jisung if the only thing he can do is dance?_ ”. At that, Chenle had felt his blood boil, and the pain in Jisung’s tone now only fuels it.

“Of course,” Chenle sits up, fully awake now, facing Jisung in the dark. “You’re the best dancer in SM. You deserved that spot more than anyone.” Pause. “More than me.” It’s true, or at least, Chenle thinks so: Jisung has been in the spotlight his whole life, and deserved every benefit that came with it. In the darkness, he can see the tell-tale trail of tears glistening on Jisung’s cheeks. The younger boy holds back a sob.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

Who is Chenle to say no? He accepts Jisung with open arms, and Jisung falls asleep almost instantly. The blanket is too small for two people, but Chenle feels more than warm, falling asleep and waking to his best friend’s peaceful snores. They only have each other, he fully realises. Them against the world.

It’s a looming thought, but Chenle is surprised to find it doesn’t scare him that much anymore.

* * *

Compared to other idols, Chenle finds his career quite smooth-sailing -- the members don’t fight much, and his skills improve proportionally with experience. Things only start to fall apart around “We Young”. Jaemin’s back is still healing, his replies to the group chat infrequent and stiff. Meanwhile, Mark and Donghyuck fight like children, out for blood with every word.

“It’s literally just fanservice,” Donghyuck yells. “You’re being so fucking dramatic for no reason. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s too much!” Mark shouts back, voice bouncing off the walls. “I keep fucking telling you, and you never fucking listen!”

Everyone knows, even if they don't quite understand. Companies market friendships like products: NoMin, MarkHyuck, even ChenJi -- put their interactions under a spotlight to be scrutinised and analysed by people who don’t know them at all. On stage, Chenle watches helplessly as Mark and Donghyuck argue, words sharp and angry, to the point Jeno has to separate them, a silent reminder that they’re about to perform. The stormy mood lasts all the way to the dorms, and Chenle slouches against the sofa, physically and mentally exhausted.

“The fancams are out,” Jisung speaks, from next to him, staring at his phone. “The fans saw the hyungs fighting.”

Chenle sighs. If the fans are noticing, it must be really bad. “Damnit.”

If given the chance, Chenle knows that he could love Jisung the way people want him to -- evident in small smiles and knowing gazes. It’s a shame he's forced to hide those feelings for the sake of his image, his career. Nobody acknowledges it, but it goes unsaid -- there aren’t supposed to be secrets between idols and fans. Though things have progressed, the stigma against idol love lingers like a stain; a skeleton in the closet of NDAs and whispered affections.

It’s a shame, Chenle thinks, that idols are expected to love everyone except those they want to.

(“I hope we never fight like that,” Jisung whispers, head in Chenle’s lap. That day, the tension had reached its apex, Mark deliberately changing the choreography last minute so that he and Donghyuck wouldn’t have to interact. The mood in the dorms was worse than ever, and Jisung had asked to sleep over at Chenle’s apartment instead of staying. “I don’t think I’d be able to handle it.”

Chenle strokes Jisung’s head; soft, tentative. “Me too,” he says.

 _I love you._ In the dead of night, it goes unsaid.)

* * *

It’s ironic, really: there aren’t supposed to be secrets between idols and fans. However, there are definitely things they’re bound by contract not to talk about: the ugly, jagged edges of fame they’re forced to stow behind layers of foundation and tailored clothing, extravagant performances and fanservice. The fans are peripherally aware, of course, but never in detail. Chenle wouldn’t want them to be, either: it’s painful to hear about.

It’s even more agonising, however, to watch it firsthand.

Along with the main dancer title comes a history of knee pains for Jisung; it’s a trend in SM, continuing on with their generation. It hinders him during comebacks at times, but Chenle watches him push through with a smile. In practice rooms, when it gets bad, he rests for thirty minutes maximum before joining back in, ignoring voiced concerns and worried looks with a single-minded focus.

Now, though, right before NCT2020, it’s the worst it’s ever been.

“It hurts so much,” Jisung cries, on the verge of tears in his room. Chenle has taken to visiting the Dream dorms every day despite living twenty minutes away, just to check up on Jisung. “Chenle, it hurts.”

“I know, Jisung,” Chenle attempts to placate him, voice soothing. Curled up into a ball, Jisung looks like he’s fourteen again -- fragile, a baby bird on shaky legs. "I know."

When the manager arrives, brows knit and forehead creased with worry, they know what it means. The look on his face is the same one he’d donned when Jaemin had to leave for a year, or when Donghyuck had to take time off.

They know what this means. Jisung will have to give up the spot he’s retained in the 23-member dance, his dance break centre in his title track. Forced to miss the biggest moments of their career.

When the official announcement is made to the public, fans trend hashtags, and Jisung’s Bubble lags from the amount of support it’s flooded with. Despite the tears trailing down his cheeks, Jisung has to be the one to soothe fans, to craft a message with Chenle and Jeno’s collective help that shows that he’s alive, he’s healing, he will be okay soon.

They all take it hard. Jisung takes to sleeping over at Chenle’s apartment, staying there even as Chenle goes for recordings, schedules, promotions. “Work It” was supposed to be in the first release along with “Make A Wish”, but they’d abruptly switched it with “From Home” in hopes that Jisung would recover in time.

And so they do: they hope, hope, and hope some more...

“FUCK!” Jisung roars, throwing a pillow across Chenle’s living room in frustration. Streams of frustration tear themselves from his eyes, raw and reddened. Chenle can’t do anything but look on, helpless, as Jisung throws his pillows against the wall to release his anger, the vein in his neck prominent and pulsing.

Chenle knows sickness, has had fevers, tricky ankles, and muscle aches over the course of his career. Of course he knows illness; just not like this.

“Fuck,” Jisung whispers, fury expended, sinking onto the marble floor. “Fuck everything.”

But what can Chenle do? Chenle can offer no magic potions or solutions, only bandages and a shoulder to cry on. Where Jisung sobs on the floor, shoulders shaking, head cradled in his arms and body curled in on itself, Chenle embraces him.

“I’m here,” Chenle assures, sorry, trying and failing for the right words. “I’m here.”

In his arms, Jisung breaks like a dam. “It’s so unfair,” he whispers, small, voice a shard of glass. “How could I let this happen? I’m so fucking stupid. I fucking hate myself.”

“Jisung--”

“It’s like--” Jisung’s laugh sounds like a splinter. “It’s like. Everything I do isn’t good enough; I’m not as cool as Jeno, not talented like Mark. I’m just. Average. What am I without dance?” Soulless. “Nothing. I’m worth as much as dog shit.”

“You’re amazing to me,” Chenle consoles, desperate. Chenle isn’t one to cry, but this comes damn close, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t find just anyone amazing.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jisung rasps, his throat a dry well out of tears. “I don’t want your pity.”

Every idol knows that their job as a performer extends past the stage. Since he was a child, singing in Vienna and on Chinese live shows, Chenle has known how to act -- to hide self-doubt behind a smile, crushing anxiety behind a joke. At some point, his entire life began to feel like a farce, even to himself.

For once, for the first time in a long time, he lets himself be as honest as possible.

“I don’t love anyone like I love you,” Chenle hears himself whisper. Jisung stiffens in his arms. Just like those hate comments, once it’s spoken aloud, it’s finally real. “That has to count for something.”

Silence. Chenle’s heart sinks; maybe he’d misread the signs all this time. Maybe he’s gotten so used to the manufactured version of himself that he doesn’t know which parts of him are real. He directs his gaze to the wall, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing.

“Hey, Chenle, look at me.”

Jisung’s hand comes under his chin, turns it gently so he’s facing Jisung again. Jisung’s expression is startlingly open, radiant. They’re fourteen and fifteen again, trading secrets under the starlight that filters, iridescent, through Chenle’s blinds.

When their lips connect, it feels like a confession. A decade’s worth of woven fate in full circle, its silver thread unravelling.

* * *

With NCT’s concept, it’s inevitable: new units are added alongside new members, and Chenle and Jisung are separated.

“This sucks,” Jisung groans. He’ll be leading the new dance group, complete with Shotaro and a bunch of other new members, most of whom are younger than him. “What am I going to do without you?”

“You’ll survive,” Chenle remarks coolly. “Meanwhile, I won’t have to deal with you anymore. Amen. Good riddance.”

Jisung slaps his arm, and Chenle yelps. “Fuck off.” _I’ll miss you._

Chenle knows exactly what he means. “No, you.” _I’ll miss you, too._

“Wow, I’m a leader now,” Jisung breathes, incredulous. “That’s crazy. I was the maknae for so long. Maybe they won’t make me do aegyo anymore.”

“Yeah, keep dreaming. If anything, they’ll make you do it _more_.”

“ _Fuck,_ ” Jisung says, with emotion, and Chenle laughs, high-pitched. The stars smile fondly on them.

Some things never change. It’ll take a long time for people to separate Jisung from words like "maknae" and Chenle from "rich". It’ll take even longer for the both of them not to be associated with the ChenJi moniker. Then again, maybe the latter isn’t such a bad thing.

As for the former, well: right now, Jisung lies, faintly constellated, in his bed, peaceful as the night sky. Chenle thinks he’s okay with keeping this secret for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/dreamsforjeno/)  
> kudos/comments are appreciated >_<  
> thank you for reading!! have an amazing day everyone


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